Glory Days
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a superhero. He's loved and adored by all the people he saves. But what happens when he leaves? And what does it mean to be a hero?


**Glory Days**

The couple upstairs banged on the walls. One of them screamed and the other screamed back. They shouted that neither knew what to do with their lives. Then a door slammed loudly and fast feet stomped down the hallway, keys jangling like bells.

His shadow stretched long on the evening sun pouring in through his window. He sat on the bed, his hands on his lap unmoving and his glasses tucked between his fingers. His hair fell into his eyes, a watery yellow now, and his lips taut in discontent.

A television set blared on the other side of the room, with news casts reporting this and that tragedy and who died here and who was murdered and who was imprisoned and who would be allowed escape and darkness upon darkness that the man pressed his hands to his ears and lay back.

XXX

"Thank you so much!" the woman called, clutching her infant to her breast.

"It's no problem," the man in the mask and suit said, holding a smoking block of shrapnel above his head. He tossed it down, landing softly on the ground for he had been hovering, and dashing away to rescue the others. Their screams filled the scene, piercing the cloth of day like daggers.

Havoc was wrecked by a machine incapable of stopping. He held his fist at ready and dashed, faster than any car or plane, surrounding the machine in dust and then, with that iron fist, slamming himself into the center. It dented easily, like pressing plastic, and wavered.

Cheers erupted from the terrified audience, cheering him on.

"Rocketman! Rocketman!"

XXX

**THE MAN OF STEEL: ROCKETMAN**

_Step aside do-gooders, we've been shown a hero of the century! Here is a man who can run at nearly the speed of sound and can lift any weight, in motion or not. And what does he do with his powers? He saves the world. He is a genuine super-hero. We attempted to ask him what his motives were but Rocketman kept his silence. He prefers to stay latent. If there's a cry for help he is sure to come. "Why, I bet if a child cried because his ice cream fell," Molly Mayberry (46) tells us, "he'd come running and that child would be happy before he knew it!" Rocketman has received nothing but good reviews thus far. We hope you stay, Rocketman! _

XXX

"Do you ever get lonely?"

"Why would I get lonely?" Alfred leaned back, pulling dark gloves up to his elbows and reaching down to adjust his boots.

"You're a super hero. You have to keep your identity secret. You don't really exist. It must get lonely."

"I suppose it can."

XXX

Look at the pictures. Look at the headlines on the wall, in the drawers, on the floor, on the bed, on the tables, and on his face. The pictures, the illustrations, the praises, the children's drawings, and all of it recede into nothing as time passes by.

He lifts one of them and examines it in the faltering light. In his graying fingers the yellowed paper reads of his success against this particular villain. In this section it praises him on forestalling a heist until the police arrived. In this paragraph it thanks him for saving a young girl's life.

They read like memories, memories derived from others but just as real in his mind. He sets them back down and exists the room, turning to face the towering city. A police siren wails in the distance. A fire engine honks and smoke curls distantly into black plumes.

He longs to go and help. He longs to go forth and rescue those people in need too.

XXX

"Mrs. Jones, your son is… different. Now, in gym class he does just fine. He can lift weights and, quite frankly, is the star of the track team. I understand he may have some 'special' abilities. But in other classes he can't seem to focus. And when some students start to horse around he's right there. That can be a good thing but one kid has gone home with a black eye already, we can't have that."

"What should I do about it? What can I do about it?"

"You can speak to him."

"I can't talk him out of his talents. That's absurd."

"You can ask him to tone it down. Maybe some medication could relax him."

"Certainly not! You want him to deny his abilities for your sake?"

"It's not for my sake, but the other children's! And more importantly it's for him!"

"I decline. Thank you, Janet, but we'll be fine."

XXX

The man of the opposing side lay wounded on the ground before Rocketman. Rocketman held his fists high, clenched, and weighed his option. The man writhed on the ground, clutching his nose which poured blood like a fountain.

"What are you doing?" He asked, pink spittle forming at his lips.

"Bringing justice," Rocketman replied.

"You're bringing justice by killing off people? How is that any better than what the bad guys do?"

"When a threat is eliminated only then can it truly be gone. If I let them live they can rise up."

"What about all that about people changing?"

"People don't change."

"Don't you?"

XXX

"Alfred, can you take out the trash?"

The newspaper fluttered briefly, the door flashed open, and Alfred called from his room: "Done!"

"Thank you."

XXX

The apartment is too small. The room is too cramped. When light pours in it is the only sense of pleasure. It is warm and soothing and little more. The buildings gleam in it like futuristic structures. Cars pass by beneath, crime breeds. Alfred looks down at the people below, his hand on the sill, his shirt unwashed. He hadn't been to work for several days. The office would call him soon enough.

XXX

The gasoline caught the flame and erupted, catching the car behind it in a great bellowing shaft of smoke rising straight up into the sky with a red core. It resounded and the people, from a far distance, watched on as Rocketman, hovering a foot above the ground, a rumored new super power, zipped around the scene.

They cheered when the enemies failed, held their breath when one captured Alfred, and cheered again when the enemy was overthrown.

XXX

He looks at the weight in the gym and positions himself under it. He places his hands at the bar and attempts to heave. It does not move.

XXX

The rain poured down thickly. Alfred stood his ground, his hair sticking to his face and his mask gleaming with liquid light from the street lights overhead.

"I've tried and tried and tried, and yet you don't kill me."

Alfred stepped forwards, sprinted, and rushed straight into a metal pole erected at that precise moment. Alfred staggered back, already recovering.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which was…?"

"Why am I still alive?"

"You said it yourself. How would it make me better than you?"

XXX

**ROCKETMAN VANISHES**

_After years of working for the people, Rocketman has vanished. The day before he was fighting crime as usual, and the day afterwards he seems to have evaporated. There are many theories as to why this may be. Some say he had finally met his end, but others insist he had hidden for some personal reason. Journalist Kevin K. says; "I doubt he would up and run after a streak of fighting so well. If he was giving up then we would have seen a decline in his performance, but there is none whatsoever. We can only assume that something drastic happened to alter this rhythm." The police are trying to fight crime, but without Rocketman criminals will have a greater opportunity now more than ever to attack. _

_"Yes," agrees Susan Sue, Psychologist (57) "the wiser criminals will know that now is the best time to make their move. The law enforcement is recovering from the loss of a great asset and will be weak."_

XXX

Alfred's mile run test in PE had to be lengthened to time taken to run around the city.

XXX

"I know this is the third school he has to go to and we'll try our best, but you must understand if we can't accommodate him. As you know, he's a very special young man."

"I understand."

"But here's an idea; what if he hides his 'powers'? If you can convince him to lie low for a little bit maybe he can blend in better with the children."

"Will you tell an artistic child not to draw so he can 'fit in'?"

XXX

At night he can hear the club across the street pump music through the streets, like water through a river. On Saturdays especially he can hear the whoops and hollers. He isn't too old, but he is too weak.

XXX

She was like him. She could place her hands on a slice of bread and when she removed her palms it would have been toasted. She smiled at him when she did it and asked him to take it to her sister across the country. He would be back in five minutes or less. Then he had to move schools again. He never heard from her again.

XXX

"If you were born without powers, would it be different?"

"Oh, yeah it would be."

"How so?"

"It would be normal. I wouldn't have faced the same problems. But it would also be less exciting."

"It's a bad thing."

"No, I don't agree. It could be a good thing to be normal and fit in. Excitement isn't always a good thing."

XXX

Then the powers all at once stopped. Alfred woke up, ready for his morning run, and prepared for the jog. He felt tired, he could barely keep his eyes open, and a feeling like a hard rock lodged in his chest. He disregarded the signs and went outside. He began a light and easy pace, but sped up as time progressed, but he couldn't move as fast as before.

It was like waking from a dream and realizing reality.

XXX

**WHERE ARE YOU ROCKETMAN?**

_Rocketman! Crimes have been rising at an astonishing rate! We need help! SOS_

XXX

"Hey, Al, can you help me move—no not my entire house!"

XXX

Alfred is nothing now. He is without his powers. The powers were passing lovers. He did not know why they vanished. Perhaps he lost his luster for fighting. Perhaps there never were any powers. He lies on his bed, thinking of this, and then goes to normal work as a normal man. He rarely smiles. There is nothing to smile for.

XXX

"So, tell me Rocketman, if I'm your worst enemy then why are you hesitating? You don't hesitate when you kill my men. Come one, Rocketman, aren't these your Glory Days?"

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia_

_"Rocketman" is a reference to the Space Race. Also referring to a very lonely man. _

_The story format is strange, but I like it. It makes you think a little. _


End file.
